Soup

There's a war going on overseas
At least, that's what they're telling me
But my mom says, "Turn off the TV."
And I sigh and resist with my knees
But these are not pleas from her
These are words of warning
If I don't sit my butt down to dinner on the count of 3
I will have invoked a war stateside
And since I'd rather not have a sore behind
And since I get a free, homecooked meal otherwise,
I guess I'll oblige.
The microwave sounds and we all gather round the table
Clean and dressed, if we're able
And Dad gets out the ladle
And my brother begins to spoon it up.
And suddenly, it's been weeks since I've had anything to eat at all,
but that soup is like a fresh kill
And I have to wait for Travis to eat it all, while I grow ill?
"Give it here," I say greedily, reaching for the crockpot
Mom gives me a look like no manners I've got
But I don't care what I ought, I'm ravenous.
Gotta steal soup if I wanna eat after Travis
And it flows sloppily into my bowl
And I start immediately spooning it into my mouth, losing control
No longer do my tastebuds linger for fragrant flavors
I don't care to have my tongue do me any favors except swallow
I imagine the vegetables and noodles filling my stomach's hollows
As one spoonful gets raced down my throat, another follows
This, I think, is the best soup my lips have ever touched.
And I'd tell Mom and Dad as much
But there's no room for words what with broth, chicken and such.
As I near the bottom of my bowl and the spoon clacks
I reposition, jaw slacked
And I tip the bowl back to get every last drop.
Once the last dribbles are gone, down my throat or my chin
Satisfaction sets in
And I set the bowl down on the placemat, look around, and grin
Let out a big, exaggerated "aahhh" to let Mom, Dad, Travis,
the bowl of soup and my hunger know
That I win.